Elastic Heart (Part Two)
by totaltilt
Summary: Genevieve ends up in Outpost 3 after being forced to leave the life she was trying to rebuild. After 18 achingly long months of trying to adjust to life underground, something sinister builds in the bunker. She soon finds that her previous nightmare comes back to haunt her, this time dressed in all black and ready to raise Hell. (Apocalypse. Part Two of "Habits Of My Heart" fanfic)
1. Chapter Ten

Hey everyone, welcome back! Here is _Part Two_, a continuation of my previous fic "Habits Of My Heart"  
Sorry this was so late, I had a lot of unexpected medical issues and holiday stuff that put a damper on my inspiration for this fanfic. But now that I'm on the right track toward getting better, I can write again!

I hope you guys enjoy Part Two!

As you all know, **this story has a lot of triggering themes for some people such as psychological abuse, physical abuse, mentions & memories of rape, mentions of animal & family death, mentions of drug addiction, and mentions of suicide.**

I promise to _always _put Trigger/Content Warnings at the beginning of chapters, just in case. Here is an example:

**TW/CW for this Chapter - Abduction**

* * *

Chapter Ten

"Let's see here… Well, I'm going to start with the basics. You are a Cancer sun, Pisces moon, and Capricorn ascendant, otherwise known as rising. In terms of other signs..."

Genevieve sat at a small table across from a woman who was much older than her. Ivy was a sixty-seven year old woman with long silvery hair just past her waist. She had bright hazel eyes that silently spoke words of wisdom. The old woman was a bit obsessed with reading natal charts and she insisted on jotting down Genevieve's information in order to give a reading.

Ivy had a pencil in hand as she glanced over her pad of paper, absorbing Genevieve's astrological birth chart. She spewed on and on about house placements and transits along with a few other things that the twenty-three year old didn't understand. That was tolerable seeing as Ivy was the most sweet, down-to-earth woman Genevieve had ever had the pleasure of meeting. The two women instantly clicked the day that the brunette was admitted to the psych facility. Everyone else in the ward always asked why she was bothering with the old nut job but the younger was genuinely reeled in by Ivy's amusing banter.

"Okay, so I'm a Cancer. Aren't they like, crabby or something?" Genevieve asked, reflecting on her very little knowledge of astrology.

"Well, not exactly. See, it's not just your sun sign that makes you who you are, it's everything. You have a few signs in different planets and there are twelve categories they each fall into called house placements, which are just as important. There is a lot that goes into it which is why some people think astrology is foolish, because they don't always relate to their sun sign," Ivy explained, excited to talk about her favorite hobby. "I won't bore you with the specifics right now but I have no issue with teaching you more in the future about this stuff."

"Maybe," Genevieve chuckled and curled into her dark green sweater. The community room was constantly freezing and no one was allowed to take blankets from their rooms. The most she could do was bundle up in multiple layers, sometimes slipping on those blue socks with the rubber soles the hospital provides on top of her regular socks.

"Could you explain what this means to me though? Like, can you predict my future or whatever?"

Ivy grinned and her eyes squinted, crows feet stretching toward her temples, "You know I'm not that talented. However _you _might be by the looks of this chart. Tell me, do you believe you're sensitive and pick up on energy easily?"

Genevieve cocked her head to the side, "You mean like… Vibes or whatever?"

Ivy nodded, peering over her oval glasses.

"I guess so, yeah. I don't like to go in certain rooms if there's been an argument and I can usually tell when someone is off or feeling uncomfortable, but I thought that was pretty normal. I don't know how astrology would prove that though."

"Now hold on," the senior continued. "There's a lot more than just that. I can tell from your chart that you're very empathetic and intuitive. You don't just know when people are upset, you _feel_ it. You know when something is about to happen and you can usually understand when someone is bad news. Sometimes you come off as cold or distant during times of stress or when you are overthinking. This is all face value stuff that I'm sure isn't surprising to you, so let's dig a little deeper. Have you had visions of the past, present, or future?"

Genevieve bit her lip and shifted in her seat as she pondered. The demonic man who she had tried desperately to forget usually brought about episodes of premonitions, but she hadn't found that out until after they had separated. Whenever he was around, she would tap into those abilities usually without realizing it.

"Uh, yeah, I have…" Genevieve looked up. "They're vague but I've definitely had phases where I predict things. It usually happens in my dreams."

"Yes, that would be the heavy Pisces influence you have in your chart. I'm going to continue on… Given certain house placements that you have here, you have a very turbulent relationship with your parents and feel the need to rebel. You are also prone to drug or substance abuse to get away from reality, using it as an escape."

The younger of the two sat in discomfort. Ivy was correct about everything so far.

"Okay but the drug thing you already knew about, I told you all about that when we first met. So…"

"I know, dear," Ivy smiled, her aging yellow teeth peeking out. "Just going over everything. There's a few other things here that I might as well mention before I wrap it up. Given the way things align in your chart, you have experienced a lot of hardships and you may continue for a long time. People have used you and hurt you in the past due to your ever-giving nature. You will live a short, hectic life that will eventually-"

The senior was cut off by a staff member's interruption. He strode up to Genevieve and reminded her that it was Wednesday and she had her usual visitor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Genevieve rubbed her neck sheepishly. "I gotta see Cerise, if that's okay. Can we continue later?"

"Of course," Ivy beamed, "You know where to find me when you're done. Say hi to your pal for me."

Genevieve got up and padded out of the community room, her rubber-sole socks making a sticking sound on the linoleum squares. Cerise was standing in the hallway waiting for her ex-roommate. She was clad in a dark hoodie and ripped jeans with her braided hair pulled up into a fiery ponytail. She smiled ear-to-ear when she saw her best friend.

"Hey buddy!" The redhead exclaimed, following Genevieve into her respective bedroom. "How has this week been? Still chatting with the witchy boomer?"

"She's not a witch, Cer," Genevieve rolled her eyes as they both sat down on the bed. "She's just kinda wacko. Everyone here has something, you know that. I kind of feel like an outcast because of it. You know I'm not mentally unstable or anything."

Cerise pursed her lips at the comment before responding, "You know why you're here, bud… It's better for you this way. You're getting help." She peered toward the chalkboard wall and looked over the number of tally marks. Her friend had been in the facility for a little over three weeks.

The hospital psychiatrists considered her depressed and psychotic due to Genevieve explaining most of what happened during her relationship with Michael. She told them about how he had supernatural powers, that he was sent straight from hell, and how he had an unearthly hold over her that was nowhere near human. As trained professionals who seek out mental illness, how could they believe that? It was a significant mistake on Genevieve's part.

Now that she wasn't experiencing symptoms while under hospital care, they bumped her diagnosis down to drug-induced psychosis. They made a plan to keep her in the psychiatric ward for a month and then turn her over to a long-term rehabilitation center. Genevieve had a history of being in and out of drug rehab and enjoyed her time there, so she was counting down the days until she would be transported from the hospital facility.

"Yeah, sure," Genevieve sighed and leaned up against the wall behind her bed. "It just sucks a lot. The food is mediocre, it's cold _all the time_, and just last week a dude named Jake flipped his shit and they had to give him Benadryl booty shots."

"Christ," Cerise stifled a giggle. "Sounds wack. I know it sucks now but you got a week left before you get transferred and then you'll be a lot more comfortable at rehab. I can even come visit you more often!"

"I would appreciate that… What was the name of that place again?"

Before the black Latina could answer they were delayed by a staff member calling for Genevieve. A nurse stood in the room doorway, looking more than a little concerned.

"Genevieve Bianchi?"

"Uh, yes?" The woman in question answered. Two men in military uniforms walked up behind the nurse and motioned someone toward the room. A woman unrecognizable to Genevieve soon stepped into the cramped space.

"You need to come with us now," she stated as the two soldiers came forward. "You have been selected by The Cooperative and we have a location set up for you where you will be safe."

"What?" Genevieve asked, feeling her heart drop. Weren't they just talking about how she had one more week left before being transferred? And who was this 'Cooperative,' the new rehabilitation facility?

"Wait a minute," Cerise started, furrowing her brows at the sight of them. "Be safe from what?"

"Nuclear war, ma'am," the lady in the suit spoke sternly. "Genevieve needs to come with us now or we will take her forcefully."

The two looked at each other perplexed before one of the soldiers approached Genevieve and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to her feet.

"No, please! I don't understand what's going on."

"Everything will be explained eventually, we don't have time for this."

"At least let me say goodbye!" The brunette pleaded, looking back at a startled Cerise before she was hastily rushed out of the door. "Let me go, I need to see my friends!"

The military men kept a stern hold on the frail woman as she thrashed and looked behind her, catching a glimpse of Cerise rushing from the hospital bedroom. Genevieve looked toward the community room and saw Ivy standing up, shock evident on the old woman's features. She rushed over just as the soldiers managed to carry Genevieve through the hospital doors.

* * *

"Miss Bianchi."

Said woman bolted upright in bed, her body shivering and sweating. She turned toward her door, making out a figure through the darkness. It was just a Gray, one of the workers.

"You'll be late if you don't get up soon."

"Um, okay… Thank you," Genevieve put a hand to her forehead as she adjusted to scene in her bedroom. The low fire light flickered softly in the darkness. Before she could catch the Gray's name, they were already gone.

Needless to say, the nightmare was incredibly jarring for the woman. This flashback played out every single night in Genevieve's dreams since she arrived in Outpost Three. It would be an understatement to say that she had an incredibly hard time adjusting to the post-apocalyptic world, especially without the support of Ivy, Cerise, or even a therapist. It didn't help that she couldn't get an answer as to why she was selected to live among those who paid their way into Outpost Three; Genevieve didn't have any money. In her mind, it would have been more fitting for her to be one of the Grays, but instead she was declared a Purple. Had The Cooperative made a mistake?

She even tried to consult with Wilhelmina Venable, Self-proclaimed right arm of The Cooperative, as to her purpose in the Outpost. She was awfully cold and condescending when she replied with a simple, "The Cooperative does not make mistakes."

After rolling out of bed and putting on one of the old purple gowns in her wardrobe, Genevieve couldn't help but feel disgusted. Even after being in the underground shelter for about two weeks, she knew there was no getting used to the hideously dated outfits.

Once she got dressed, Genevieve made her way out of the room and studied the hallways. Although she hated the fashion, she did take a liking to the weird architectural design of Outpost Three. It was like the place was set in a completely different timeline, and maybe it was, considering it used to be an exclusive boys school. Everything was lit by candles or fireplaces, casting warm glows and dark shadows on everything. It was weird to not have electricity, but Genevieve chalked it up to the fact that the planet was literally in shambles and electric companies most likely didn't exist anymore. Although, if The Cooperative was made up of rich elitists that provided them with fresh water and nutrients, why not find a way to make electricity attainable? Then again, Ms. Venable did explain that The Cooperative wanted it this way. The plan was to blow up the world with nuclear bombs and start from scratch. Genevieve couldn't see the logic behind their reasoning but she didn't have the nerve to ask.

Either way, the place was undoubtedly beautiful. The interior was similar to a Victorian type aesthetic, although it was spacious and much easier on the eyes. Even though it was underground, there were two floors; the lower floor held the dining room, a library that doubled as the living area, offices and other miscellaneous rooms that the facilitators resided in. The upper level was mostly suites; Grays lived in the small rooms and The Purples were gifted the bigger ones. Genevieve had never seen a setting so beautiful yet so solemn. The walls held stories and energy that were so foreign to her that she had no idea what to make of it. Something inside her didn't believe that it was previously just a school, deep down she knew there was something more to it.

Genevieve spent most of her time reading old books in the library. It was evidently boring but sometimes the Purples would get into a quarrel about something petty and unimportant. Genevieve found the arguments quite amusing. However, she was quiet most of the time and wouldn't engage in pointless conversation. She was happy that nobody really bothered her or gave her a hard time, considering it was already difficult trying to adjust to life underground as it was.

That day was mostly uneventful, save for a few Purples bantering back and forth about the most recent murder of Stu and whether or not he was really irradiated. Once dinner time approached, the energy turned sour after what was suppose to be a 'special meal' turned into mass panic. Instead of the regular gelatinous cubes that everyone was beginning to despise, a soup was served instead. Many soon grew skeptical while others decided to eat it, relishing the fresh change. Andre, Dina Steven's son and Stu's lover, proceeded to completely flip the boat and the dinner was soon ruined. Wilhelmina Venable sat there, completely unfazed as most of The Purples stressed over the idea of cannibalism.

Later that evening, The Purples were arguing over whether or not Stu was actually cooked into their dinner and many accusations began to get tossed at one another. Thankfully, Genevieve took no part in eating the stew because of a stomach ache she had earlier, even though she was sick of the vitamin cubes like everyone else. How convenient it was to have a random bout of dyspepsia for once.

"Why would she feed us poison? The whole reason she is here is to keep us alive."

"But where's his body, then? I want to see it; I want to see Stu!"

"Shut up, shut up!" Gallant spoke loudly, catching everyone's attention. "Just listen."

Genevieve's interest was piqued and she looked up from her book. Everyone was quietly listening for whatever the hairdresser heard. The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound that filled the room.

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," Emily spoke up this time. "The song stopped."

Just then there was a click from the radio and a new song began to play. Conversation started back up and everyone resumed conversation again. Genevieve went back to her book. She thought it was silly how exasperated everything seemed to be among the rich. Sure, the same song played for the last two weeks on repeat, but she was skeptical about how everyone rejoiced that this was a sign of savior. The earth had been destroyed on the surface, how could they be saved? Where would they go? Wasn't everything gone?

Maybe she was just cynical. Genevieve could tell that most of them wrote her off as that. It was truthfully hard to adjust to life like this, especially after how good things were going for her in the hospital. She complained then, but now Genevieve would do anything to go back to those bright white hallways and cheap hospital food. She missed her newfound friend, Ivy, and most of all she missed seeing Cerise and listening to her fun tattoo stories whenever she came to visit. Life here was not ideal and Genevieve silently cursed The Cooperative for blowing up the world and forcing her to survive here with bumbling idiots. All she wanted was to turn back time and do everything over. If she knew this was her fate, she wouldn't have taken everything for granted.


	2. Chapter Eleven

**No TW/CW for this Chapter**

* * *

Chapter Eleven

The next eighteen months dragged on monotonously. Every day looked exactly like the last and you could see it starting to wear on everyone. Living with little to no stimuli or sunlight was like chewing on barbed wire.

Of course there was the occasional back-and-forth between The Purples, everyone having a turn at each other whenever they could. Again, Genevieve was still not the type to engage, nor did anyone come for her. It was the same for Timothy and Emily; for the most part, nobody bothered them. Genevieve did catch wind that they never bought their way in like most of the occupants. In fact, they were taken by the military and transported to Outpost Three, just like Genevieve. Those two were very different from her, and younger, but at least she had something to relate to. The only difference in their story was that The Cooperative told Timothy and Emily they had 'good genes' or something, yet Genevieve was never given an explanation as to why she was chosen.

It was frustrating for her to try and wrap her head around why she ended up here, but dwelling on the situation did nothing but cause more stress and confusion. Genevieve was already preoccupied with trying to come to terms with living out the end of her days underground, especially with the disturbing memories of what her life was like beforehand. Trying to ignore a haunting past was difficult when there was nothing but time in her hands.

Throughout her stay in Outpost Three, Genevieve managed to grow out of her shell the more her abduction nightmares began to subside. Every month she spent in the Outpost, more progress was made in overcoming her social regression. She wasn't too keen on the other Purples, so she made friends with most of The Grays. Genevieve understood that they were technically workers who served The Cooperative in order to keep things clean and orderly, but she knew they were more than that. They were human, just like everyone else in the shelter.

One Gray in particular stuck out to her and his name was Vincent Addington. He was tall with shaggy black hair and gorgeous dark eyes, a classic heart throb. Genevieve wasn't interested because of his physical attributes though, she was interested because he was incredibly nice to her. Maybe it was Vincent's job as a Gray to treat Purple's as royalty, but Genevieve was sick of the malicious attitudes that the rich wore. What she originally thought was humoring banter became downright annoying and she couldn't find it within herself to try and get close to any of The Purples.

Despite keeping things friendly and occasionally sharing stories over what their life was like on the surface, Genevieve wanted to keep things brief with Vincent. Not because she didn't trust him, but more so because she couldn't trust herself. She was terrified of getting close to anyone new again, especially men who made butterflies tickle her stomach.

She decided to pick and choose what she wanted to let Vincent in on. Genevieve was well aware of how words spread like wildfire throughout the bunker and she wasn't about to let spill that she was a previous heroin addict. That was a sacred subject she refused to let anyone in on, even if there was no chance she could touch drugs again anyways, with nuclear winter and all. Instead, Genevieve told Vincent about all the good things that came from her life. She mentioned her exuberant friend Cerise, the old wacko Ivy, and her beloved late cat, Holly. Thoughts of her loved ones still stabbed her heart whenever Genevieve mentioned them. She knew that they were long gone in the horrendous wasteland that was the terrain above ground. It left a heavy weight on her soul.

Vincent listened and shared most of his stories with her as well, although they weren't too interesting in comparison. He had a fairly normal life until he ended up as a Gray through family means. His ancestry was made up of personal assistants for the extremely wealthy, which landed him a spot in Outpost Three. His family wasn't as lucky; unfortunately, they didn't make it in time because they were on vacation, much like the demise of Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt's family.

It was a foreign emotion to Genevieve, watching someone suffer because they couldn't save their family. She recalled her own background and how awful she felt towards her blood, aside from her brother who passed unexpectedly. Whenever anyone mentioned family, Genevieve found it hard to relate to but still tried in her own way. The only family she had above ground were the friends that were undoubtedly long gone. Living in Outpost Three was a constant reminder that her life would never return to normal.

* * *

One morning, Genevieve sat up in bed, feeling like her heart was going to burst from her chest. It had been many months since her last nightmare so she was incredibly perplexed on what she just experienced. Genevieve decided to backtrack, recounting her dream in order to figure out why she was having such an involuntary reaction. That night she had dreamt about the world above ground; dark, dull, and depressing. It took place right above Outpost Three specifically, a carriage approaching through the smog and halting at the spiral entrance. The horses that pulled the cab sported lesions and open wounds from the outstanding amounts of surrounding radioactivity. Miriam Mead and The Fist, part of The Cooperative's assistants like Ms. Venable, promptly waited outside. They watched closely as a dark figure exited from the buggy, respectively cloaked in anti-radiation attire.

Although she wasn't able to see the man's face or hear his voice when he spoke, Genevieve vividly remembered how awful his energy felt in her dream. She hadn't felt such fear prick her insides in over a year and a half, which further confused her. Who was he and why did this feel like a nightmare?

After recounting the dream's events, Genevieve sat in bed for a while, trying to regain her composure as a dull pain thudded inside her skull. She forced herself to believe that it was merely a random nightmare and nothing else. Genevieve decided to get up and prepare herself for yet another boring day, the lingering aura from the dream never once leaving the back of her mind.

During breakfast, Ms. Venable presented dreadful news to the Outpost. Rations were getting low and everyone would need to resort to one meal a day, which raised some mixed reactions throughout the shelter. Coco, an arrogant Purple that Genevieve didn't like whatsoever, decided to throw a fit and protest Ms. Venable's announcement.

"What is the point of all of this? Starving, killing each other, getting shot? All we're doing is waiting around to find out how we die."

Tension began to rise and people threatened to leave the Outpost, until a perimeter alert went off. Everyone sat quiet for a minute as The Fist and Ms. Mead exited from the dining room, checking on what tripped the alarm. The Purples spoke among themselves and Genevieve swallowed back the anxiety that was crawling up her throat. Something felt off; in fact, something _was_ off. This was the exact same feeling she had in her nightmare.

"_There was no way this could be happening, right? Did I predict something again?"_

Her thoughts wandered back to what Ivy had told her in the hospital. Sure, she had a few screws loose but she brought up impressive points about Genevieve's life. The younger _did_ have the ability to dream about things that have happened or would happen, and the visions usually manifested during times of stress or profound changes in life.

The Purples finished off their last breakfast and everyone went back to what they usually did day-in and day-out. Most of them were quick to forget about the perimeter breach, but not Genevieve. There was a change in the air and it felt like a cold wind had made its way through her, chilling her to the bone. Genevieve desperately wanted to distract herself from the strange occurrences that were happening.

* * *

Gallant was one of the few men that Genevieve did not fear, mostly because he was homosexual and she wasn't scared to interact with a man who found no interest in her. Of course she didn't appreciate his abrasive personality but she could count on him to cut her hair, so that's what she asked him to do. Over the past eighteen months it had grown out like grass, the blonde section beneath the brunette waves had become overdue for a trim. Gallant was incredible at trimming out the blonde strands while still managing to keep most of the length. Before Genevieve was put into Outpost Three her hair was a few inches past her shoulders, now it was just shy of her waist. The bangs that originally covered her forehead grew out to hug the sides of her face instead.

"There you go. If you ever want to do some fun hairstyles, I'm your man," Gallant remarked, running the long strands between his fingers. "The blonde was beginning to drive me mad, I'm glad you let me fix it up."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," Genevieve sat facing the mirror in her room, watching the chestnut tresses fall over her shoulders and around her face. She looked down and picked at the hem of her sleeve.

"So...what's your deal? You barely talk to us. You kind of just mingle with The Grays," Gallant observed. "Kind of like Timothy and Emily, but they have each other. You just stick to yourself most of the time. Everyone was wondering if you bought your way in or if you were part of that 'good genes' bullshit or whatever."

Genevieve sighed before replying, still looking downwards, "I don't know why I'm here, I was poor before the bombs dropped. To be honest, I wish I had died in the blast with my friends to save me from this place. Everyone is starting to get tired of the same shit every day and now we're going to starve to death, just like Coco said. It's depressing."

Gallant nodded and turned to pack up his equipment, "Well, that's true. But it's more lonely if you keep to yourself. Why not open up to us, aren't you sick of reading those boring old books?"

"Can you stop trying to get to know me?" Genevieve bit back. "Maybe I want to keep my distance. I clearly wasn't meant to be here. I told you I didn't buy my way in and now I have to be crowded into a space with a bunch of stuck-up, rich assholes who only like to argue and compare their privileged lives. It's fucking irritating."

"Oookay," the bleach-blond hairdresser took a step back and toward the door. "Hey, I was just trying to help you out. We're all grouchy and sick of being around each other, I get it, but snapping at me isn't gonna help. If you wanna be miserable by yourself then so be it."

And with that he left.

Genevieve sat in front of her mirror in disbelief. Maybe the awful vibrations in the Outpost were beginning to wear on her, considering everyone was usually in such piss-poor spirits all the time. It wouldn't come as a surprise that it could be affecting her mood, on top of the persistent reminder of her nightmare the night before.

Before the brunette could dwell on it any longer, she heard a woman's scream echo from across the Outpost. Genevieve snapped out of her transfixed state and stood up, curiosity getting the better of her. She peered outside her bedroom door and made eyes with a few others who were also curious about the yelling. Everyone watched as Ms. Mead and The Fist rushed past everyone and into Timothy's room. Just then, Genevieve caught a phantom smell that sliced her at the core. A mixture of sickeningly sweet cloves, vanilla, and spice assaulted her senses.

Reeling back inside, she clasped her hand over her mouth. She stumbled backwards onto the floor, her body convulsing.

'_There is no fucking way…'_ Genevieve thought to herself, her stomach doing flips. Nausea poured into her stomach and she decided to crawl towards her bed to lay down. Memories of Michael Langdon lept into her mind, to which she shook her head in protest. So far, Genevieve had been doing a great job with forgetting about him during the time she spent in the shelter, until now.

"You aren't here," She said aloud, sliding into her sheets and pulling the covers over her head. "You can't be…"

Genevieve stayed like that, twisting and turning in her sheets for hours. She bit at her fingernails as she tried to fight back the oncoming panic that threatened her emotional state. Her breathing hitched, coming and going erratically. It felt like there was a band around her chest, the anxiety keeping a stern grasp around her jumping heart. Genevieve threw a pillow over her face and bit into it to keep from grinding her teeth out of her head.

The brunette didn't realize how much time had passed until Vincent, the only person Genevieve had grown accustomed to, knocked on her door and peered inside.

"Genevieve? It's time for supper. Everyone is seated but you."

"Huh? What?" Said woman sat up and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Vincent mumbled and stepped into the room. "Are you okay? Did I wake you?"

"God, I wish," Genevieve sat up and breathed an exasperated sigh. "I'll be there in a bit, don't worry about me. I'm good."

He nodded and quickly walked out, leaving Genevieve to ponder what had just happened. How had so much time passed during her episode of panic? It had felt like only minutes to her. Not to mention, she certainly wasn't hungry for dinner, but she knew Ms. Venable would chew her out if she didn't make it to the table. Genevieve cursed and straightened out her day clothes, making her way out of the bedroom. The phantom smell was gone, much to her surprise and relief.

'_Am I going crazy in here?'_

The brunette twisted her hair between her fingers as she stepped down the stairs and through the corridor into the dining area. After belatedly sitting down at the table and earning a scornful look from Ms. Venable, Genevieve watched as silverware and bowls were served to everyone. She sat there quietly, feeling completely disconnected from the commotion around her. Everyone was muttering about how hungry they were, and what could possibly be in the dishes, since the vitamin cubes usually came in on plates instead of bowls. Emily caught the brunette's attention as she decided to speak above the chatter.

"So who's in your office?"

"I beg your pardon?" Ms. Venable inquired and a shot Emily a look of contempt.

"Alarms went off before, someone came inside. Who else is here?"

The disabled woman wrote off the observation, "All questions will be answered in due course. Eat."

And so The Purples lifted the lids to their soups, many of whom gasped in surprise. Genevieve did as well, watching as a snake began to slither outward and onto the table in front of her. Most of the people who were situated at the table began to yell and jump from their seats. Genevieve stood up with the others, watching as multiple people took off from the scene unfolding before them.

She wasn't necessarily scared of snakes but Genevieve knew a bad omen when she saw one. The sight of them made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. There was definitely something very wrong here and it demanded to be known. Genevieve's intuition once again proved itself, there was no denying it now.

* * *

Sorry for another filler chapter, I promise Michael will make his grand appearance in the next one. Just trying to set the scene for ya folks, so please bear with me ^^;


	3. Chapter Twelve

And now, the chapter you've been waiting for! :^D

**TW/CW for this Chapter - Non-consensual touching, traumatic flashback, and mentions of past drug overdose**

* * *

Chapter Twelve

After the dinner event that left everyone more than a little on edge, Genevieve returned to her room. She didn't necessarily feel tired but all she wanted to do was lay in bed and not speak with anyone. Something was interfering with the energy in Outpost Three and more people were beginning to notice.

Before she could slide into bed, there was a faint knock on Genevieve's door.

"Yes?" She called out and watched as the door slid open. A concerned-looking Vincent stood in the doorway..

"Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were alright," he spoke softly and slipped inside the dimly lit room. "Snakes are kinda freaky, aren't they? I wonder if this was some kind of crude prank."

Genevieve sat down on the bed, "I don't know. Ms. Venable looked just as shocked as everyone else."

"I didn't really catch that, there was a lot going on," Vincent smiled and took the spot beside his friend. "I really like what you did with your hair. I liked the blonde part but this is nice too, of course."

"Thanks, Gallant cut it for me…" Genevieve offered a light smile before averting her eyes.

"Correct me if I'm overstepping boundaries, but you seem distant lately. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," the brunette's demeanor changed, her smile fading. "I think my brain is just a bit scattered. There's been a lot of weird stuff happening and I don't know what to make of it. Things were going smoothly, and boring, but mostly smooth for the past year and a half. Why are things acting up now?"

"I don't know," he said softly, looking down at Genevieve's hand. "Maybe it has to do with the person Venable is keeping hidden?"

Genevieve swallowed and turned to the man beside her, "I hope not. I can't explain it but I have a bad feeling about it."

"I think it's going to be okay… I forgot to mention that Ms. Venable called a meeting in the library," Vincent inched his hand toward Genevieve's and laced their fingers together. "We can go down together if you want?"

The woman grimaced at the touch and quickly pulled her hand away. It had been a very long time since Genevieve felt human contact that the exchange felt wrong. It kicked up feelings of discomfort within her. She sighed softly and clasped her own hands together instead.

"I-I'm sorry… Uh, we should probably go to it then. Just… don't do that."

"I'm sorry," Vincent was quick to apologize. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I just saw Timothy and Emily and I, um…"

Genevieve shook her head and stood up, blush creeping onto her cheeks, "It's fine, let's just go."

* * *

In the library, The Purple's sat and chatted over glasses of water. Wilhelmina Venable stood in front of the fireplace and The Grays lingered around the taken seats. Walking toward an open space toward the left wall of books, Genevieve leaned against the shelf and crossed her arms. Vincent joined and stood beside her as they waited patiently for what was to come.

Conversations began to die down as they heard approaching footsteps in the hallway. That stomach-turning scent that Genevieve had smelled earlier was back again, but stronger and less dream-like. She knew it wasn't her brain playing tricks any longer after seeing who stepped into the room.

Michael Langdon strode into the living space, making his way toward Ms. Venable. The first thing Genevieve noticed was that his golden hair was much longer than what she remembered. He was clad in black clothing and black shoes, with multiple rings adorning his fingers. There was even a small amount of red makeup dusted on the space between his eyebrows and the inner bridge of his nose.

The sight of him nearly made Genevieve's knees give out. Surely there was no way for him to exist in this post-apocalyptic world, as she had assumed that everyone above ground had died after the bombs dropped. Genevieve realized how flawed her thinking was considering he was now standing before the occupants of Outpost Three. Not to mention that she was aware of how otherworldly Michael was. Why wouldn't he survive the nuclear blast?

He stood close to Ms. Venable, staring her down. She bowed her head and slowly hobbled from in front of the fireplace, off to the side. Genevieve had never seen Ms. Venable look so defeated before.

Michael took her place and looked over everyone in the room. His piercing blue eyes grazed Genevieve's for a split second and she could feel her insides churn. She quickly grasped at Vincent's hand and yanked him closer, her limbs beginning to tremble.

Genevieve wasn't the only person in the room that he had an effect on. Michael was made of sin and magnetism. He captivated everybody's gaze and he easily put on a faux aura of confidence. A few of The Purples looked on with lust; namely Andre, Gallant, and Coco, to name a few. However, Genevieve knew better than to be tempted by his villainous presence. She knew it was just a mask to hide the malevolent nature inside him. All the people in Outpost Three were sure to figure that out in due time.

"My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative," he started, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. "I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth."

Michael continued to speak about other Outposts that were overrun and how the people there were massacred. He spoke flatly and orderly, practically giving Genevieve psychological whiplash. The Michael she had previously known was not so well put together as the one that stood before her now. He also said that he was an agent of The Cooperative, an organization that Ms. Venable described as the greatest minds on earth.

People began to ask questions and he would answer. Michael continued by stating that there was a separate place called The Sanctuary and that it had certain qualities to prevent it from being overrun like other Outposts. He explained that he was sent here to determine who gets to go to The Sanctuary. Of course Coco protested as always, questioning his antics in her usual shrill speech. He reprimanded that if no one wants to partake in the survey, they can stay and die. Gallant spoke up and offered to go first to which Michael agreed.

He then held up a small plastic bottle of pills, explaining that anyone can eat one and fall asleep only to never wake up. If someone wants to stay or doesn't make the cut to go to The Sanctuary, suicide was one of the very few options one could take.

"I look forward to meeting each and every one of you," Michael's lips curled into a smile as he continued to glance around the room. His eyes met Genevieve's once again, only this time they lingered until she looked away, feeling as if her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

"Fuck," she quietly swore as Michael exited the library, conversation between The Purples picking up again. Genevieve let go of the vice grip around Vincent's hand.

"What's going on?" He asked fretful of the brunette's reaction. "I've never seen you act like this before."

"_Fuck_," Genevieve repeated, looking around at everyone in fear before locking eyes with Coco's personal Gray. They both stared at each other, Mallory clearly confused by Genevieve's visceral reaction.

Before losing her composure completely and risking a complete meltdown in front of the entire Outpost, Genevieve darted out of the library at light speed. Once making sure that Michael was nowhere in sight, she quickly bounded up the staircase. Her shoes snapped against the hardwood until she found her way to her bedroom. Once inside she slammed the door and bolted toward the bathroom, immediately doubling over and vomiting into the toilet.

'_Why is this happening? Why are you here?'_ Genevieve wracked her brain as she slumped against the cold ceramic. '_I thought I would never see you again… I was _hoping _to never see you again.'_

"Genevieve?" A soft voice came from inside her bedroom. Genevieve heard footsteps coming toward her as she looked up, wiping at her face.

"Oh my god," Vincent gasped and knelt down beside the woman. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"

"No, no… Please just go," Genevieve rasped, feeling embarrassed over her current state. "I-It's nothing against you, just please give me some privacy."

Vincent bit his lip and stood back up, looking unsure, "Okay… If you need me please don't hesitate."

"I won't," she smiled gently.

With that The Gray left. Genevieve pulled herself off the toilet and maneuvered herself into the shower. She silently kicked off her shoes and stripped herself of her purple gown. She threw it to the side and fumbled with the knobs of her shower until eventually turning them on. Genevieve made sure to keep the water as cold as it would get.

She couldn't seem to wrap her head around what just transpired. Genevieve pinched her arm between two fingernails, eventually drawing blood. The pain was a reminder that this was actually happening and not some sort of realistic lucid dream. Michael really was in the underground shelter and he was Genevieve's only way out. Which also made her think, would she rather die here or did she want to live and go to The Sanctuary? But, what would that entail? If it meant she would have to live with Michael in close proximity again, or worse serve him, then Genevieve would rather die.

'_Why didn't my overdose kill me back then? Why did I have to live and end up with this fate?'_ Genevieve contemplated, looking at the water running toward the drain. '_Anything would be better than this…'_

Some unknown amount of time rolled by as Genevieve sat in her shower, still completely in shock. She was numb and unfeeling, until the freezing water turned boiling hot. The woman snapped out of her dissociative state and quickly jumped up. She grabbed at the shower handle, turning it back to cool.

"What the hell?" Genevieve said allowed as she furrowed her brow at the components in the shower stall. She felt a soft breeze blow into the shower and that's when she peered through the steamy glass. A black figure stood there. There was absolutely no features on the person nor were there any discernible clothing from what Genevieve could tell. She squinted, trying to figure out what exactly they were wearing.

The figure stepped forward into the low light of the bathroom. Genevieve's heart began to race as she noticed it was wearing a black, skin-tight suit from head to toe. She couldn't make out the material as it came closer.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice quivering. Genevieve tried hopelessly to cover her naked body, even going as far as to sink back to the floor of the shower. She curled into a ball to try and save her dignity.

"This isn't funny, p-please leave."

The suited person swung open the glass door of the shower and stood towering over her. The brunette was about to scream when the figure bent down and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her up and against the wall of the shower. Genevieve thrashed against the rubber material, her feet barely touching the floor. Stressed tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes as she tried to claw at the person's mask, trying desperately to rip it off. In response to this, the figure tightened the grip around Genevieve's throat and pressed it's body against hers.

The feeling of latex against bare skin made panic swell in her chest, further accentuating the lack of oxygen in Genevieve's lungs. Before her vision began to fade, the suited figure let go and she fell back onto the shower tiles. Memories of the time Genevieve last saw Michael sprung into her mind. Even through the previous drunken haze, she remembered being pinned against the wall. Michael had threatened to cut her face with a broken shard of glass, before dropping her a toy he was done with.

Genevieve looked up at her attacker from the shower floor and watched as it exited the bathroom. This person was definitely not Michael as it didn't feel or smell like him. So who was it, someone who had something against her? The only person that came to mind _was_ Michael, but why would he do this? To scare her?

Trying to figure out all the questions she had, while simultaneously experiencing a traumatic flashback, was beginning to break her down. Genevieve squeezed her eyes shut and pulled her hair, letting out loud sobs as she sat naked with the shower still pouring water over her. She wasn't able to get a good look at the person's eyes because of the steady stream in her face and Genevieve cursed herself for it. Even if she did get a look at the person's eyes, would she recognize them? If she did, she knew she wouldn't have the guts to confront anyone about it.

There was no use to ponder 'what ifs' at this point, because the truth of the matter was that Genevieve didn't know. Even if she told someone, how could she expect anyone to believe her? Her thoughts wandered to Vincent.

Maybe she _could_ confide in someone. The only issue is she would have to get over the mental hurdle in her mind of opening up to another human.

* * *

That night, Genevieve barely had a wink of sleep. Memories of her past plagued her head, reminding the brunette of just how awful of a situation she was in. No matter how many times she shut her eyes and prayed to wake up, she would open them again, only to reveal that everything was the same.

Genevieve thought she had went to Hell during the time between her last overdose and her ride to the emergency room. In fact, she was certain she did. But now she was almost certain that this was Hell instead. The whole Outpost, the situation at hand, even Michael; all of it felt like Hell. As Genevieve saw it, there was no way to escape if this was her newfound reality. Either she would go out kicking and screaming or submitting to the man who tore down her attempt at a stable life.

She began to put the pieces together. If Michael really was working for The Cooperative and it wasn't a lie, then what was his reason to bring her here? Wasn't it enough to kill her cat and traumatize her?

"..._If I didn't know what is coming for you, I'd almost say you're lucky I'm letting you live." _

Michael's haunting words from nearly two years ago rang out in Genevieve's mind, making her shudder and pull the sheets over her head. Is this what he meant back then? Was he the entire reason why no one would tell her why she ended up here? Did he specifically order the military to come and abduct Genevieve instead of letting her die in the blast with her loved ones?

Her chest began to tighten once again as she was faced with the reality of the situation. She remembered the way he spoke and looked at her the last time they met in Cerise's living room, which was hauntingly similar to the way he presented himself now. She couldn't fathom how something so vaguely innocent became something so dark and sinister.

As she felt her heart lurch at the emotional memory, Genevieve bit back a sob and buried her face in the pillow. She couldn't stop the painful thoughts from flooding in, especially after months of trying to repress them and move on. Even though they were difficult to look back on, she preferred that over ruminating about the masked man who assaulted her in the shower.

"Cer… Ivy… I'm so scared," Genevieve's quivering voice spoke against her sheets. "I wish you were here to give me advice…"


	4. Chapter Thirteen

This chapter and the next chapter will be a lot of dialogue, sorry about that!

**TW/CW for this Chapter - Psychological abuse, mild violence, and some swearing**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Come early morning, the grieving woman awoke groggily to a silhouette of a man shaking her arm. Genevieve gasped and jolted awake, bloodshot eyes snapping open in fright. Once she realized it was just Vincent trying to wake her up, the fear subsided.

She rubbed her eyes and groaned, "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Vincent bit his lip, guilt dancing on his face. "When I called for you, you didn't answer. So I came in and tried to help up."

Genevieve pulled herself up against the wall behind her bed, tugging the covers toward her chest, "What time is it, did I miss breakfast?"

The male offered a small smile and sat beside his friend, "Don't you remember? We aren't eating breakfast anymore because of low rations…"

"Right," Genevieve sighed and looked at Vincent. "Sorry, I don't think I slept well…"

"I can tell, your eyes are red. Are you okay?"

Remembering the night before caused a shiver to run up Genevieve's spine. The feeling of rubber against her naked skin was definitely not something she would want to experience again, nor was it something she could easily forget. The very thought of being so helplessly vulnerable made her skin crawl.

"Um, I don't know. Bad dream," she pinched the bridge of her nose between her eyes. Genevieve decided to go with a white lie, she didn't want to worry Vincent anymore than she already had.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The black-haired boy questioned and leaned toward her. "I'm all ears."

"No, I really don't, but I appreciate the offer."

Vincent nodded and continued to peer over at Genevieve. She was clearly not a morning person, anyone could tell that, but this morning seemed much different. A silence hung in the air around them before he eventually spoke up again.

"Do you remember holding onto my hand last night? It was like a death grip… You seemed really scared of that Langdon guy."

The name felt like a punch to the gut. Genevieve had momentarily forgotten about her perpetrator while in the presence of The Gray and the evocation of yesterday's events replayed behind her eyes.

"Fuck," she hissed between her teeth and banged her head back against the wall. "I don't really want to talk about that either. Sorry…"

"No, it's okay," Vincent was quick to reassure. "We don't have to talk about anything. My apologies if I came off as prying." He stood and padded toward the other side of the bed, sitting down beside the brunette but making sure to not touch her in case she recoiled again.

Genevieve looked over his chiseled features, taking note of every little detail and mark on his skin. Vincent was gorgeous in the soft light of the bedroom, his dark eyes were lit with the dancing illumination of the fire. It would be a lie to say that she wasn't interested in getting closer to him but Genevieve knew better. After everything she had gone through, why bother getting close to anyone again? He was nice but at what cost? Michael was just as nice and polite before shit hit the fan.

Despite learning not to trust the majority of people she came across, Genevieve swallowed it back and ventured on. It was the end of the world as they knew it, she wasn't sure which day would be her last. With that, she took a chance.

"I think… I just miss my friends," Genevieve sighed and slumped against the wall. "I know it's dumb because it's been so long now that we've been here, but things are starting to change and I think my brain is kicking up all these emotions again. I can't help but feel sad, y'know?"

"I do," Vincent mumbled and scooted closer toward Genevieve, looking her in the eyes. "But we can't dwell there anymore. That Cooperative guy is offering a chance to live and we need to fight for it. We could be saved."

The brunette was silent as she stared at him, completely perplexed by what he was saying. Did no one here understand how much danger emitted from Michael?

"I don't trust him," Genevieve rebutted, sitting up and leaning right into Vincent's face. "That guy is bad news and I swear to God if you can't even feel the evil radiating off him then… Then…"

"Then what?" Vincent inquired in a hushed tone, a puzzled look enveloping his features. "Listen, I felt it too, but what other way is there? You heard him give us our options. He's our only chance at life."

Genevieve scowled and turned her head away, annoyance beginning to bubble in her veins. Of all the people here, Vincent was the one she thought she could trust the most. Yet here he was, playing Michael's game just like everyone else.

"Hey…"

Silence.

She couldn't believe she took a chance at trusting someone only to get let down again. Genevieve turned her anger inwards and cursed herself for being so stupid yet again. As she was beginning to shuffle out of bed to stand, she felt a tug at her wrist.

"Please don't go, I'm sorry."

Genevieve turned back to Vincent and sighed, shaking off his grasp. She was in no mood to play games anymore; she just wanted to be alone, but how could she with a persistent boy in her room?

"I'm going to get dressed and then head downstairs to read," Genevieve mumbled as she turned away from him and toward her wardrobe. "You should probably get back to work."

She didn't have to look back to feel the mountain of hurt that radiated off of Vincent. Genevieve cringed inwardly at the realization of what she just said, as it was then amplified by the sound of The Gray exiting the room and the door shutting loudly behind him.

* * *

After making sure there was no sign of Michael anywhere, Genevieve quietly made her way into the library once again, of course not without catching the attention of the other Purples. No one said anything to her about yesterday's frantic escape, much to the woman's surprise. Most of them usually made snide remarks to each other whenever anything relevant happened. Maybe they just passed her off as insane at this point. Genevieve would be content with that, so long as they left her alone in doing so.

She pulled out a random book from one of the shelves and curled up in her usual corner. Conversation began to pick up again after she sat on the floor and flipped through the pages. The book in her hands was evidently boring, as most of them were, but this one was about history in a country she has never heard of. History was one of the driest subjects for Genevieve. Back when she was still in school, she much preferred the hands-on type of learning, like art and music, as opposed to the critical thinking subjects.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a clearly distraught Gallant sauntering into the library space and sitting down on one of the couches. The bickering between Mallory, Coco, and Evie halted at the sight of the bleach-blond.

"Surprised to see me breathing, Nana? Usually they shoot people for fucking. Or did you not remember that when you turned me in?"

"No hard feelings, darling. I want to live, and the only way to achieve that is to get rid of these ten little Indians who stand between me and that golden ticket out of here," Evie chided, completely unfazed by what her grandson was implying.

"Um, we're sitting right here," Coco spoke up, her shrill voice soon cut off by the bickering family.

"It's not my fault that you can't control your carnal urges."

"You have lived!" Gallant yelled dramatically, standing once again to point at his grandmother, "I haven't."

"Oh, yes, you have."

And with that the two began another heated argument. With the topics they were throwing around at each other, Genevieve quickly grew uncomfortable and decided to make an exit. Watching the scene unfold triggered such a grotesque feeling within her that Genevieve knew she didn't want to watch the end of whatever was transpiring. She had no interest over what they were fighting about nor did she want to find out what prompted it.

Quietly, she put her book down and slowly inched her way out toward the door, catching the eye of Mallory yet again. The two women locked eyes before Genevieve turned and walked away from the squabbling family and down the corridor.

"_What a mess…"_ She thought to herself, staring down at the hard wooden floor as she walked. "_That demonic prick probably caused this."_

"Hey, um, Miss?" A familiar voice caught Genevieve's attention.

"Huh?" She looked up to see Vincent, fidgeting with his hands. It seemed he couldn't look her in the eyes.

"Mr. Langdon would like to see you for your, uh, 'Cooperating' test."

The color drained from the woman's face as she stared straight at Vincent, completely dumbfounded. She never offered, nonetheless told anyone that she wanted to participate.

"I… Don't want to."

Vincent shook his head before replying, "I don't think you really have a choice…"

Genevieve wondered if there was some kind of protocol set in place to have every Purple attend the test. Yet, Michael had mentioned that anyone who didn't want to participate could take a suicide capsule instead. That fact alone contradicted the theory Genevieve was trying to conjure.

"_Is there really is no escape for me?"_

The brunette bit her lip and looked over toward the door of Ms. Venable's office. It was a mere seven feet away as Genevieve and Vincent stood awkwardly in front of the grand staircase, just outside of the library. She swallowed silently and prepared herself for whatever evil laid behind those walls. Genevieve nodded to Vincent as a form of thanks and slowly inched her way towards the large, heavy door. Her breathing quickened as she raised her hand to the dark wood, feeling the dread pool in her stomach. Everything in Genevieve screamed that she would be making a mistake is she stepped past this threshold. She didn't want to think about what would happen to her if she didn't attend Michael's test.

Genevieve was biting the inside of her cheek now, so hard that it was beginning to rub raw against her teeth. Sucking in a deep breath, she stiffened and pushed open the door.

It was warm inside the room. Genevieve kept her eyes low while she listened to a fireplace crackle from across the room. After gingerly stepping inside she let the door shut, all the while keeping her eyes glued to the ground in front of her. Her brain was so overloaded that Genevieve wasn't sure if she imagined the sound of a lock clicking in the door behind her. Then that disgusting scent hit her nose, prompting her to look up and investigate.

She quickly stole a glance at Michael. He was sitting at Ms. Venable's desk and reading over papers in front of him. His hair glowed softly from the light on the other side of the room, making it look much more golden than Genevieve remembered. He looked up and she immediately looked away again, sweat beading on her forehead from nervousness.

"Ah, Miss Genevieve Bianchi. Take a seat and we shall begin," Michael's velvet voice broke the silence and he gestured toward the chair in front of the desk. Genevieve was taken aback by the calm tone he carried but quickly reminded herself that this was the devil she was working with. There was no way he was worth trusting as everything about his guise was fake.

Taking another breath to try and steady her heart rate, Genevieve shuffled toward the chair. Her legs shook as she pulled it at least a foot from where it was originally positioned, trying to get as much space away from Michael as she could. Genevieve sat and clasped her hands in her lap, never once looking him in the face. There was no denying that they both knew she was tense.

Michael let the quiet space between them simmer for what felt like hours for Genevieve, but was most likely only a minute. Every second that passed was like waiting for an end, but never quite reaching it.

"Talkative, aren't we?" He finally broke the silence. "I'm surprised, you are the first person so far who isn't foaming at the mouth to be saved. I've noticed a lot of people usually have questions about my testing process. Would you like to know how you will be graded?"

Genevieve grit her teeth and sat there unresponsive. She didn't want to play whatever sick game Michael was spinning. She knew he had many tricks up his sleeve and that his only intent was to cause her harm.

He stared at the brunette before finally standing from his seat and striding around the table, moving towards the right of her chair. Michael watched over Genevieve like a hawk as he circled behind her and then stood by the left side of the chair. At this point, she was convinced the room was reaching boiling temperatures. Genevieve felt as if she was going to pass out at any second.

"Come on now, everyone deserves a chance at salvation," Michael insisted, walking in front of Genevieve and then back toward the right again, making a full circle. He swiftly stuck a hand out and ran a ringed finger up her shoulder, making the brunette snap out of her transfixed state. She quickly slapped his hand away as her lips pulled back into a snarl, teeth bearing and all.

"Don't fucking touch me," Genevieve growled, her emerald eyes still glaring down at the floor. All the hatred she felt toward this man was beginning to crash back into her psyche like waves in an ocean.

Michael smirked and turned to stand directly in front of her again, this time snapping his fingers in front of her eyes. She looked up with a grimace, locking eyes with that familiar gaze of his. Michael's eyes were not the same ones that she fell for; no, they were cold and unfeeling.

"So glad of you to join us, Gen," he mused, grinning smugly.

"Fuck you," Genevieve seethed. If looks could kill, Michael would have been flayed alive.

"I like this anger you're presenting me with. I wasn't sure how much you'd change after the end of the world and yet here you are, character development as clear as day. Tell me, do you like it? The raw emotion of wrath? You know, some people would say anger is a good thing. It motivates people."

"You are a piece of shit," Genevieve spat, still glowering up at the Antichrist. "You killed my cat, you ruined my recovery, and you destroyed my peace of mind. Now I'm fucking stuck in this shit-hole with bratty assholes who can't stand two seconds without biting at each other's throats, because of _you_."

"Did I _really_ ruin your recovery?" Michael debated and sat down on the desk in front of Genevieve, still watching her closely. "Or were you so sick in your brain that you latched onto any sort of comfort you could and then eventually spiraling hopelessly once it left you? Didn't Marie teach you anything about codependency in therapy?"

Genevieve was standing now. The chair she previously resided in tumbled backward onto the floor with a crash. She was fuming, the brunette's hands were balled at her sides into tight fists. She looked at Michael with as much resentment as she could muster.

"You purposefully fucked with my head. You reeled me in and used me to gain power or something, I don't know. But what I _do_ know is that you are nothing but a lowlife monster who destroys everything in it's path. I know exactly what you are now and you can't scare me anymore."

Within seconds Michael now stood over her, making Genevieve back up instinctively. She nearly tripped over the chair behind her, not having time to react to his sudden movement.

"Do you really think my intent is to scare you?" He stepped forward to which Genevieve stepped back again, this time fumbling over the furniture and falling onto the hardwood. She gasped and immediately watched as Michael continued forward, like an animal about to hunt down its prey.

Genevieve had a history of lashing out when she felt the need to defend herself. It didn't come as a surprise to her when she scrambled to get up and immediately struck him with an open palm. Michael's long locks of hair swayed with his face as it was forced to the side. Just before Genevieve could use this chance to run, the blond swiftly grabbed her wrist. He squeezed tightly, his hold growing tighter with each passing moment, to the point where Genevieve slumped down onto her knees. She cried out and looked up at his face, staring in disbelief and horror. Michael grinning as black enveloped his irises and spread across the white spaces of his eyes, completely smothering them in darkness.

"Pl-please stop," Genevieve gasped, feeling the bones in her hand beginning to shift. "You're going to break my wrist!"

As Michael opened his mouth to speak, the perimeter alert sounded across the Outpost. The black covering over his eyes dissipated and the hold on Genevieve's arm loosened. She tried to pull away but Michael drew closer, bending down to get eye level with her.

"Let it be known that our conversation is not over," he resumed that eerily calm voice of his, speaking over the alarm as he did so. Before Genevieve could get her senses straight, Michael yanked her by the arm and threw her toward the door, almost effortlessly. She landed on her shoulder and the skin of her forearm skidded across the ground, sure to leave a nasty friction burn.

"I hope you understand by now that this aggressive behavior towards me will have to change… Or I will do it for you."


	5. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Despite the increasing amount of pain that she was in, Genevieve got up and booked it from Ms. Venable's office, breathing heavily as she rushed past a few people who stared in confusion. She didn't stop as her feet pounded against the staircase yet again, dead set on holing up inside her bedroom away from everyone. Genevieve's wrist and shoulder were screaming in pain.

She rounded a corner sharply and immediately crashed into someone who was going the opposite way. It was almost as if her brain bounced around in her head as she was thrown to the side. Genevieve staggered to stay on her feet as stars danced in her vision. She looked up to see a Gray clutching their own head.

"Miss Bianchi?" Mallory asked, taking off her glasses and rubbing them in between the fabric of her uniform.

"Just," Genevieve panted. "Call me… Genevieve." She doubled over and held the wall for support, trying hard to catch her breath. Her body was aching to lay down; she was spent.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Mallory put her glasses back on as she stared at the other's injuries. She stepped closer to Genevieve, unsure of what to do.

Said woman shook her head before looking over at The Gray, "Not really… I can't be here."

"Okay," the servant breathed and gingerly grasped Genevieve's hand, the one that wasn't swelling. "Come on, I'll lead you to Coco's room."  
Genevieve shook her head again, urging this time, "No, please. She's really mean and I just want to be in my space… Please."

Mallory pursed her lips and looked over the woman's ragged appearance. Genevieve could tell The Gray was pondering on what steps to take, but she couldn't care less. Genevieve didn't want anyone else seeing her in such a distraught state.

"Fine," Mallory sighed and began to walk the two of them towards the direction Genevieve was heading in. "But just to let you know, Coco is gonna be really upset with me if I'm not with her in five minutes."

Genevieve rolled her eyes at Coco's selfish arrogance, hobbling toward her room with the help of Mallory. Once they hit her door, she instantly stepped inside and collapsed on the ground of her bedroom, tears springing to her eyes. Mallory was quick to jump on this, sitting down right in front of Genevieve on the floor.

"Um, maybe I should get some first aid for this," Mallory stammered as she inspected Genevieve's scrapes and bruising wrist. "What happened to you…? This can't be from bumping into me."

"I can't believe this is fucking happening to me," Genevieve sobbed hysterically. She pulled her unimpaired arm up to her eyes, trying to shield the sad sight from Mallory. Even as she was breaking down, she felt nothing but shame. Genevieve wasn't sure if she could trust this girl, yet she felt strongly compelled to let everything out. Her emotions had finally reached their limit and were now bursting at the seams.

"After all this time…! I thought I escaped him, I thought I was _free_ from him… But a whole year and half later and he fucking shows up in my life again!"

Mallory sat there, watching the woman in front of her unravel by the second, "...Mr. Langdon?"

Genevieve nodded and continued to cry, this time lowering her arm in defeat. Her tears spilled down her cheeks, rolling under her chin and falling to the floor beneath her. Some of the tears fell onto her purple gown, immediately dispensing into the lavish cloth. The brunette's body shuddered with each gasping breath, letting her despair flow freely. Genevieve didn't know why she allowed herself to cry this openly in front of someone she barely spoke with, but there was no stopping the waterworks at this point.

"If it's worth anything, he scares me too… I didn't like the test he gave me," Mallory explained sheepishly before switching the conversation back to Genevieve. "You said you know him?"

"Unfortunately," Genevieve croaked and looked up at the girl. "I… don't really know how to explain it. He was an entirely different person when I first met him…"

"Really?"

"Yeah," the brunette sniffled and rubbed her eyes. "He was so sweet and kind to me. I really liked him, maybe… Even…" She wanted to say 'loved' but the thought alone made a lump swell in her throat. Her eyes pushed out more tears as she reflected on the bittersweet memory. Genevieve shook her head to try and shake the thought away. She cleared her throat and continued on.

"...Um, there were warning signs. It was my fault for ignoring them. His grandmother told me to watch out. Hell, even my own _brain_ was telling me something was wrong but I ignored it until it was too late. He ruined my life in just under a month and then disappeared forever… Until he came back. It sounds stupid now that I've said it out loud, huh?"

"N-No," Mallory stuttered, giving Genevieve a look of sincerity. "Please, don't feel bad. I thought I was crazy for thinking there was something off about him, so… I want to listen."

Genevieve bit her lip and looked away as she started again, "To be honest with you, I'm convinced he came straight from Hell itself. It was like he knew all the weak spots in my soul and prayed on them. Everything about him drew me in and I became obsessed, which is why he quickly turned my life to shit so fast. Even though we only knew each other for a short period of time, I think… I think he had a supernatural hold on me or something. Like my soul or mind or… I don't know. He's just _evil_, Mallory."

She probably sounded like a madman with how she was describing things, but Genevieve didn't care. She was speaking her truth, save for the drug addiction part. Genevieve was certain Michael influenced that part of her brain, whether it was intentional or not. Her pseudo-withdrawal symptoms were a clear sign of that.

Mallory looked on with sympathy before finally speaking, "...I'm so sorry that happened to you. I believe you though, I really do. See… When I was taking the test, some things happened… And he-"

A knock sounded from the door to the bedroom. Mallory and Genevieve looked over to watch the door slowly creak open. Genevieve swiftly hid her arm from sight of the hallway.

"Hey," Vincent spoke softly, poking his head through the open space. "… Mallory?"

Said woman quickly stood to attention, facing the other Gray. Genevieve watched as Vincent stepped into the room, a puzzled look crossing his features as he tried to figure out what happened prior to his entrance.

"I'll be on my way," Mallory whispered to Genevieve. "Coco probably needs me."

Before Vincent or Genevieve could protest, she was steadily making way for the door and exiting the room. Once the door shut again, silence filled the space as Vincent grazed over the scene on the floor. Genevieve was looking away, clearly disheveled and in despair.

"I was going to announce that Venable called an emergency meeting."

Genevieve hissed in contempt as she tried her best to scoot out of the eye sight of The Gray. Unfortunately, her attempt was in vain as he was quick to notice Genevieve's angry friction burn and her swollen wrist.

"Oh shit, Gen." Vincent softened and bent down beside the woman who was still on the ground. "What happened? Did Mallory-?"

"No, Mallory helped me," the brunette spoke abruptly, looking at him with defensive eyes. "I'll tell you about it later, okay? I'm _really_ not in the mood for this right now. Besides… Emergency meeting."

"Okay..." Vincent murmured, unsure. He grabbed Genevieve's uninjured hand and pulled her to her feet, making sure she was steady as she stood upright. The woman thanked him, fixing her dress and patting down her hair to make her look more presentable. She knew her face was red and puffy from crying but Genevieve simply didn't care anymore. Judgment at her appearance was the least of her worries at the moment.

* * *

When everyone was accounted for in the library, aside from Michael, Genevieve settled into a corner of the room with Vincent by her side. She pressed herself up against the shelf behind her, wanting nothing more than to disappear into those boring old books. People were staring at her appearance, gawking at how horrendous she must of looked. Even Wilhelmina Venable shot her a strange glance before beginning with her announcement. Genevieve had no time to look in a mirror due to her unfortunate circumstances. There were more pressing matters at hand.

"These past several months have been difficult for all of us," Ms. Venable started. "And perhaps, in my efforts to keep us safe, punitive measures have been taken too far. I believe now what we need is a moment of celebration… Camaraderie."

As Genevieve listened to the older lady ramble on about some sort of 'Halloween Ball', she looked over the people who were gathered in the library.

"If only my Nana were here to enjoy it with me."

It only became clear to Genevieve that Evie was missing due to her grandson, who spoke sadly. No one else seemed to be wary of this, nonetheless as confused as Genevieve was. Wasn't Evie just here hours before, arguing with Gallant about living?

"_Was she murdered like Stu?"_

Ms. Venable continued on about how people should arrive in costume and that attendance was mandatory. Most people seemed delighted at this but Genevieve thought it was a bunch of nonsense. Considering she was in a lot of pain and wanted nothing more to do with the rest of The Purples, she was exhausted. To her, it felt like she couldn't catch a break. No matter where she was, she just couldn't get away from the constant interaction with other people. It was driving her mad.

As Ms. Venable tapped her cane on the ground to signal that the meeting was over, people began to stand and walk from their seats. The Purples chatted about their ideas as they began to walk out. Vincent stood by Genevieve, about to start a conversation with her again until he caught sight of Michael Langdon, striding swiftly into the library.

He approached the two casually, as if he wasn't responsible for the horrendous actions he committed earlier, standing before them. A small part of Genevieve wanted to cower in fear but she decided to hold her ground instead. She was prepared for whatever he might throw at her, but Michael wasn't looking at Genevieve. Instead, he was staring at Vincent. Confused, the woman turned to see her friend standing there white as a sheet and on the verge of shaking. Whatever unspoken conversation was taking place between them was short lived as Vincent was quick to turn away from Genevieve completely, hastily walking out of the library with the remaining occupants of Outpost Three.

Michael turned back to the brunette, a grin creeping on the edges of his lips. He said nothing as he put a hand on the small of her back before roughly pushing her toward Ms. Venable. His touch alone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Hey-" Genevieve gasped and stumbled forward. Before she could whip around to chew him out, Michael spoke over her.

"Ms. Venable," he started. "I know it is not in your best interests but I'm afraid Miss Bianchi will not be attending the masquerade you have planned."

Ms. Venable squinted, disdain evident on her features, "And why is that, Mr. Langdon?"

"We have some arrangements already set in place," Michael spoke without missing a beat. "But don't worry, I'll try to make things quick so she can arrive before it ends."

Genevieve swallowed hard in her throat, watching the silent exchange between the two Cooperative. With all the tension hanging in the air, it felt as if her disquietude was going to choke her.

'_What is he saying?'_ Genevieve drew a sharp breath, meeting eyes with those deceitful icy blues of his. '_Why does it feel like he's lying?'_

Ms. Venable grimaced and said nothing, turning away from them and hobbling toward the corridor. Genevieve turned to Michael, watching as a grin formed on his lips. The brunette quickly turned away from him and made a beeline of the library and past Ms. Venable, not once looking back.

* * *

When Genevieve came back to her room, she wasn't surprised to see Vincent waiting. He was pacing around the fireplace and biting at his nails. He looked up when he saw the brunette enter, immediately rushing to her side. She was clearly shaken.

"Gen, what is going on?" Vincent spoke quickly, his eyebrows lacing in concern. "You've been really distant lately… Is there something between you and that Langdon guy?"

"I should be asking you that," Genevieve turned to face The Gray. "You nearly tore out of the library like a bullet."

Vincent bit his lip and went to sit on the edge of the bed. He hung his head and fidgeted with his hands before eventually placing them by his side. His inky hair fell into his eyes as he spoke.

"Um, this is gonna sound a little crazy."

"Try me," the brunette countered, deciding to join Vincent on the bed. She sat beside him.

"If you tell me what happened, I'll tell you what's been up with me."

"Okay, well… I think he was in my head. I heard a voice telling me to leave," Vincent shuddered. "I-I know that sounds like I'm making it up but I swear it came from him. I felt like I needed to get out of there or something bad would happen. I think you were right, there's something seriously not right with him."

Genevieve sat there and said nothing. She sighed softly and fell backwards, letting her body drape across the mattress. Closing her eyes after a moment, she responded slowly.

"...I'm sorry, but I did try to warn you."

"True," Vincent spoke softly and laid back with her, propping an elbow against the blanket and resting his head in his hand. "But… That's what happened. So… could you enlighten me with what's happening with you?"

She knew there was no other way to go. She already opened up to Mallory, someone Genevieve barely talked with prior to that day. Vincent had proved himself trustworthy already as they had spent countless days and evenings sharing their lives with each other. He was just blinded in the beginning with a false sense of security that Michael offered the Outpost. Now that Vincent had seen for himself what Genevieve had originally warned him about, she figured that maybe it was finally okay to let the walls down. Besides, she didn't know who would be allowed into The Sanctuary and who would get left behind. Her heart hurt to think that they would be separated. But the truth of the matter was that Genevieve didn't know, so she might as well take the risk now before it was too late.

"First, his name is Michael Langdon. I knew him before the bombs fell," Genevieve spoke softly, still keeping her eyes closed. "Please understand that I don't really want to get into specifics, but I will say that we were growing very close to each other in a short amount of time. You know when you meet someone and you instantly click and end up getting so wrapped up in each other that you spend every day together, to the point where it gets unhealthy? Well… Yeah. It was all happening really fast and I can assure you he was _not_ the same Michael as the one you know. He was… Very different."

She opened her eyes to see Vincent leaning over her, his head still propped up on his hand. He looked nothing short of surprised.

She continued, "Long story short, he made a lot of things very complicated for me. So much so that I… I ended up in the hospital. I felt like I lost my mind around him and the fact that he's back, and my only chance at staying alive, is fucking terrifying. I know I'm keeping this vague but you have to understand that I was definitely not expecting to see his face again at the end of the world. I feel like I'm living in a nightmare that I can't wake up from."

Vincent sat quiet for a moment, sympathy clearly playing in his dark eyes. Genevieve turned her head away, trying to keep what little shred of dignity she had left. Warm, soft fingers touched her chin, pulling the woman to face Vincent. Their faces were inches apart.

"Genevieve," he muttered gently, voice full of sincerity. "If we make it out of here alive, I promise to never hurt you. I can't promise to protect you from that bastard but I can promise to be there whenever you need me too. That's what Grays are for, right?"

She sat there quietly, unsure how to respond to such a statement. Vincent was the only friend Genevieve had left who took a genuine interest in not only understanding her, but respecting her.

"Vincent, I'm sorry I've been so rude to you lately. You have been nothing but kind and patient with me. I can't help but feel bad that I didn't trust you with what's going on for so long… Because in reality, it's so hard to trust anyone anymore."

A soft knock interrupted the conversation as it resonated throughout the dimly lit room. Genevieve and Vincent sat up as the door opened, revealing another nervous Gray. The brunette unfortunately had forgotten the name of this one.

"Miss Bianchi? Mr. Langdon will see you now. Shall I escort you?" She asked softly, not meeting eyes with The Purple.

"No, thank you. I will be down in a minute," Genevieve replied curtly, watching as the door shut quietly. She turned toward Vincent, her organs doing somersaults in the pit of her stomach.

"Things are going to be okay," Vincent offered a light smile. "I have to go serve the Halloween Ball that Ms. Venable called for. But before I go…"

Genevieve sat and raised an eyebrow. She watched as Vincent clasped her unharmed hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles as soft as his lips could manage. The gesture sent jolts through Genevieve's hand and up her arm, raising goosebumps.

"If we don't make it, I hope we can spend the end of the world together."


	6. Chapter Fifteen

Hey, sorry for taking so long to update! Lots of health issues that have been taking a toll on my mental health, in turn making it hard to dedicate my time to writing. I hope you enjoy this chapter though!

**TW/CW for this Chapter - Mentions of suicide, Canon-typical violence, Canon character death(s), descriptions of vomit  
**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

After one last goodbye between them, Vincent departed from Genevieve's bedroom. It would be false to assume she wasn't more than a little wired. After treading into the bathroom, she took her time to freshen up.

Genevieve splashed cold water on her face and looked into the mirror. She watched as the warm glow of candle light cast shadows over her skin. Her once vibrant green eyes were now dulled, the onset of dark circles shown underneath due to her lack of sleep. Her hair was just shy of being matted and she combed her fingers through it, admiring the job Gallant had done just days earlier.

"_...What is that?"_

A single strand of silver hair had peaked out at the roots. Genevieve furrowed her brows, perplexed at the sight. She was only twenty-five and already had a grey hair. She touched it lightly, witnessing it bend at the slightest touch. Genevieve concluded it was most likely from the amount of stress she had recently endured.

The woman washed her face, put on a new gown from her closet, and pulled her hair into a messy bun. She slipped on a pair of dark purple heels, a luxury Genevieve hadn't worn since before the apocalypse. It wasn't much, seeing as she didn't care for the masquerade Ms. Venable had sprung on everyone. In turn, Genevieve did next to nothing; the shoes were enough as they were.

Fumbling around with her balance, she was quick to relearn the dance she had almost forgotten. Genevieve felt a bit more confident now after having a minute to herself. Knowing that Vincent was there for her helped immensely, sparking hope into her heart.

The last thing she wanted was to have another conversation with Michael. Genevieve wasn't sure if it was him that awakened such a strong reaction of anger or if it was from two years of repressed trauma. Either way, it didn't prevent the notion of impending doom. She couldn't wrap her head around the two options she had; dying in the Outpost or serving Michael at The Sanctuary. Genevieve definitely wanted to live, but at what cost to her mental fortitude? She quickly came to a decision.

She would rather eat the suicide capsule.

* * *

Genevieve descended the Outpost staircase, listening to the loud jabbering from the library. The sound of everyone laughing and talking away had pricked at her, even though she wasn't all too interested in the first place. However, the thought of not being surrounded by happiness and fun was enough to make Genevieve jealous. The shelter had been dry of any uplifted emotions for too long and now she wasn't even a part of it when it finally came.

Turning away from the Halloween Ball occurring in the library, Genevieve noticed Ms. Venable's office door had been cracked ajar. There was no doubt that it was meant to invite her in. She reluctantly obliged.

Before Genevieve could slide it open, the door moved on it's own and beckoned her to come closer. A blast of warm air wafted over her body. She looked up, expecting Michael to be sitting at Ms. Venable's desk. He wasn't, much to Genevieve's surprise. Instead, he stood in front of the fireplace, facing away from the door entirely. He stood between two black chairs that were parallel to each other.

"Come and sit," Michael spoke curtly, gesturing a hand to the furniture.

Genevieve was hesitant to follow the orders but stepped inside the room anyway. Her heels clicked softly against the hard wood as she stepped toward the furniture. Michael turned and watched with emotionless eyes, not even a smile on his lips. Genevieve shot him a gold glance before eventually sitting down on one of the smooth black chairs. The fire crackled quietly to the right of her.

"I don't want to waste much time here," Michael breathed, sitting down adjacent from Genevieve. He leaned back and laced his hands together in front of him, his elbows propped on top of the chair's armrests. Michael looked her straight in the eyes, his blue irises illuminated in the wavering fire light. Genevieve stared back, never one breaking their gaze. She wanted to prove her strength, not so much to him, but more to herself. She was set on not letting Michael have the upper hand any longer.

"Why do you think your alive? Do you think it was a chance of luck?"

The question caught her off guard. Genevieve's glare softened as she pondered on what he meant.

"...What? If you mean coming to The Outpost, then I guess my only answer would have to be that you did it. You probably brought me here to watch me lose my mind-"

"No," Michael was quick to cut her off. "I'm talking about your overdose. You had so many drugs in your system it was a surprise to everyone how you didn't end up dead. Well, save for the eleven minutes that you _did_ die. Do you think your resuscitation was nothing short of a miracle?"

Genevieve leaned back into the chair, stunned. The night it happened and the day following had been very hazy for her to remember. If she recalled correctly, Cerise and the hospital staff were the only ones to know. Then again, Michael was prone to reading her past with just a touch of their skin.

"_Did he see into my past again?" _She wondered silently to herself, turning to look into the fire beside her. "_Was it when he grabbed me…?"_

"No," Michael corrected once again. "Not only was all of your medical history on file here at Outpost Three, but I have a knack for knowing everything about anyone. Consider it night vision into the soul, if you will."

Genevieve continued to look into the fire, memories began to resurface inside her. She remembered rushing to the Murder House, where two teenagers watching her as she prepared her suicide. Constance was there, looking more alive than ever despite the fact that she was dead.

The brunette sifted harder through the murky evocations. She remembered an older woman with curly red hair who decided to help her, despite never once meeting Genevieve before.

"You went to Hell," Michael interrupted her flashback. "Where you should have stayed, really. But, did you?"

Genevieve turned to face him again, the color drained from her face. She remembered now, the figure who murdered her previous boyfriend was Michael Langdon himself. Genevieve felt a knot tighten in her stomach, nausea rising into her throat.

"Why…?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why save me just to make me suffer? Are you _that_ much of a sadistic bastard?"

Michael sighed, "My plan was to bring you to Outpost Three in hopes you would become a viable candidate for The Sanctuary. I wasn't sure how much hope I had for you in becoming cynical enough, but you have surprised me. You hardened quite considerably since I last saw you. The only issue I have is that Gray you took a liking to…"

As he tailed off, Genevieve sat there, growing more and more agitated by the second.

"_This was a set up from the start."_

"Unfortunately my plans have been altered quite drastically," the blond looked to the side, his smooth voice never wavering. "I have decided that no one is being selected."

"What?" Genevieve spoke up, perplexed by the curve-balls Michael was throwing at her. "So, you're saying you're just going to let everyone die? What was the point of all this then?"

Michael stood up, walking away from the furniture. He placed his hands behind his back as he paced away from the space between them. He hesitated a moment before turning back around.

"A group of individuals somehow managed to find their way into The Outpost," he proclaimed. "I don't really know which people are a part of it but they have the potential to destroy everything I have built for the new world. I originally thought they had perished during the blast, but…"

Michael strode closer, about three feet from where the woman sat.

"I can't take chances. Everyone must go."

Genevieve gaped at him. She also decided to stand, albeit on shaky legs. She couldn't believe the words that were rolling from his mouth.

"Am I hearing this right? Y-You starting this…? You caused the apocalypse?"

"And what if I did?" Michael smiled, standing proud before her.

Genevieve slowly shook her head from side to side. She didn't want to believe it but a part of her knew she was right. Genevieve knew he was nothing short of evil; the true spawn of Satan. Michael had played all the right cards to get them to this very moment, pulling the strings behind Genevieve's life to have her end up here. Even if he was speaking the truth about beating her down to make her fit for The Sanctuary, he contradicted it by announcing that everyone was going to die anyways. Genevieve knew there was no better time to act than now. There was no more waiting for what was to come next.

She made a break for it. The brunette managed to evade Michael, flying past in a hurry toward the door. As her hand just barely grazed the wood, an invisible force grabbed her. It forcefully held onto the core of her body, flinging her out of the doorway and to the left. Genevieve felt the wind rush out of her lungs as her back hit the wall. She gasped for air as she watched Michael advance toward her.

"I could kill you with a snap of my fingers," he purred, sweet venom lacing his speech. "I also could have let Ms. Venable kill you like everyone else. However, I don't think that would have been very appropriate."

Michael stepped closer, this time inches from Genevieve. His cold eyes peered into frantic green as he stood over her. There was that sickening, honey whiskey breath tickling Genevieve's face again, begging her to submit.

"I put in a lot of work to mold you into someone that would be ready for the world in my image. I _made_ this version of you. Truthfully, I think it would be fitting to tear apart my own creation."

Michael bent forward, lips barely grazing the edges of hers as he whispered, "I will be the ending you deserve, Genevieve."

It was like a flip switched in her brain. With adrenaline now coursing through her body, Genevieve's instincts kicked in. Normally people assume that it's either fight or flight; but for her, it was evidently both.

There was no supernatural hold around her arms or hands, only her chest and stomach. Genevieve used this to her advantage. She recoiled her arm and swung it forward, swiftly connecting her knuckles to Michael's cheek. Her reaction caught them both off guard as he staggered backward. Michael's invisible force dissipating as he brought a hand up to his cheek. Genevieve took this as an opportunity to run.

She immediately swung open the door and ran as fast as her feet could take her. She kicked off her purple heels as she made way for the library, not once looking back behind her. Her bare feet padded loudly against the ground as she skidded into the corridor. The putrid stench of vomit wafted from the affiliated room. Genevieve halted.

From the hallway into the library, she saw people laying down on the floor. As she approached, she noticed they weren't just people, it was all of The Purples and Grays. They were everywhere, bodies strewn across the ground and couches with piles of vomit seemingly everywhere. Genevieve covered her nose, retching violently at the smell of bile.

"_This is a dream," _Genevieve thought to herself, looking around at everyone's corpses. "_There's no way this is real."_

Her eyes soon found Vincent's. He was off to the side and curled up by a couch. His eyes were glazed over as peach-colored regurgitation dribbled from his mouth. Genevieve clutched her stomach then, unable to contain the helpless feeling inside her. She dropped to her knees, gaze still fixated on her friend's corpse as she gagged again.

Out of the corner of her vision, Genevieve noticed a dark shape sliding down the hallway and toward her direction. Fully expecting Michael to make his appearance, she gasped in surprise when it was that damned black-suited figure again.

"N-No," Genevieve breathed, watching as it drew closer. She fell back, trying desperately to move farther away from the person who had harassed her in the shower say days ago. Genevieve scrambled backward, careful not to slide into the bodies behind her.

"Go away!" She screamed as the rubber-suited man stood over her. His feet were to either side of her body as he stared down at the writhing woman. There was no color in his eyes. No white, no irises, only darkness.

Before she could scream again, he bent down and swiftly struck her in the neck. The mysterious figure must have hit a pressure point, because as soon as his gloved hand met her throat, Genevieve's eyesight faded to black.

* * *

(It may be a few days until I upload the last chapter, sorry!)


	7. Chapter Sixteen

Hey y'all, just a heads up that this chapter is reaaaally kinda fucked up. Hope you enjoy it anyways though! Sorry for the wait,,

**TW/CW for this Chapter - graphic physical violence, bone breaking, head and tongue trauma, constant mentions of blood, and character death.**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Genevieve came to sometime later to the sound of shuffling. She felt the skin of her arms and the scalp of her head rubbing against a hard surface. The soft ruffle of her clothing accompanied by a pair of footsteps evoked the attention of her groggy conscious. The next thing Genevieve noticed was the stinging pain on the back of her cranium. She drew a hand toward the spot in order to get a better feel at the wound. The brunette touched saturated locks, perplexed on why her hair was damp and sticky.

"Huh…?" Genevieve muttered. She cracked opened her eyelids, witnessing the muddy black clouds disperse from her vision.

"I was expecting you to wake up as soon as your head hit the first step," Michael's voice rang against the bare halls of the Outpost. "But you must have been really out of it, considering we made it up the entire staircase already."

As she began to refocus on her surroundings, Genevieve's eyes rested on golden locks of hair. Michael was dragging her by one of her feet, facing away from her as he did so. By the looks of it, they had managed to make it all the way upstairs, because bedroom doors were passing her by as she was dragged like helpless prey. The blood on the back of Genevieve's scalp was undoubtedly caused by the stairs Michael had mentioned.

Swallowing hard, the woman quickly shook herself awake. Despite the fatigue weighing on her body, Genevieve was desperate to fight back as it was the only chance at an escape. Gathering what little strength she had left, Genevieve pulled back the foot that wasn't in Michael's grasp and kicked it forward. Unfortunately, in her concussed state, she missed and kicked at the air beside him instead.

Michael must have felt the struggle as he had stopped walking and dropped her foot entirely. Genevieve gulped down oxygen and swiftly made a move to scramble to her feet, but Michael was faster. He spun around and had his hand in Genevieve's hair within seconds, grabbing the cake-y brown curls in a fist.

Genevieve cried out as he swiftly yanked at her hair, jerking her body to his side. Tears sprang to her eyes due to the trauma on the back of her skull.

"Gen, don't you think this game of cat-and-mouse has gotten a bit old?" Michael inquired, peering down at the young woman in his grasp. "Don't worry, it's going to end soon. We're almost there."

It was no use to question him now, Genevieve was at a loss for words. She yelped when Michael began to walk again, this time faster and with much more haste. Genevieve screamed wildly as her hair felt like it was being pulled from the roots. She kicked and yelled out, throwing her hands up to try and claw at Michael's grasp in a desperate attempt to free herself. The affliction caused stars to dance in her field of vision.

It seemed that no time had passed when a door opened before Michael, inviting him inside one of the master suites. Genevieve continued to frantically cry out, even attempting to grab onto the door frame in order to prevent her from being dragged inside.

"Now, that won't do," Michael tutted and kicked one of her arms, the same one that was attached to her previously injured wrist. Genevieve gasped and recoiled from the attack. This absolute roughness was startling, as she had not witnessed Michael act this way in all of the time that she knew him. Killing Genevieve's cat in private was one thing but physically harming her so ruthlessly was something else entirely.

When she looked up to face the eyes of her perpetrator, Genevieve felt the same unseen hold that Michael had used on her multiple times before. She watched in horror as her body lifted from the floor effortlessly, completely unable to move any of her limbs in the process.

"You have made it exceptionally hard not to get my hands dirty," the blond sighed and looked down at his blood-stained palm. "I mean that literally and figuratively."

Genevieve's eyes danced between him and Ms. Mead, who had taken a stance by the bedroom door. She must have been the one to let them in.

"Please help me!" Genevieve shouted and struggled against the invisible grasp that suspended her in the air. Ms. Mead stared at the fear-stricken woman, not once showing an ounce of pity or empathy. Genevieve's eyes darted between Ms. Mead and Michael, before finally catching a glimpse of the body on the floor.

It felt like the wind had been knocked from Genevieve's lungs as she stared at Ms. Venable. A pool of blood surrounded her from a wound in her chest. The dark red liquid glimmered in the fire light as it hadn't had the chance to dry yet.

"Ms. Mead," Michael spoke softly, turning to face the Cooperative. "Could you give us a few minutes?"

"Yes sir," the woman in black nodded and made way for the door, not once batting an eye at the situation. She left promptly, leaving the room to Michael, Genevieve, and Wilhelmina Venable's body.

The brunette couldn't utter a word as Michael's unseen force shifted her from the upright position and then toward the bed, throwing her into the mattress with ease. He then advanced, shedding himself from his affluent blazer and throwing it onto a chair nearby. The bone-chilling energy he radiated was unspeakable. It was unlike anything Genevieve had ever felt.

"I don't think we finished our conversation, Gen," Michael mused, his eyes burning with curiosity and madness while grazing over her form. Genevieve struggled against the invisible hold keeping her held down but it was to no avail. Whatever power he manifested was much too strong for her to fight against. The fear ate at her so much that her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Genevieve wracked her brain to try and figure out a plan to escape, but the absolute finality of the situation was more than loud and clear.

"It's not very fun when you won't talk to me," Michael hummed and shifted himself. He pulled a leg onto the bed and then another, gracefully mounting the restrained woman. His knees positioned to the sides of her legs and he sat on Genevieve's shins, carefully putting a hand on the bottom hem of her dress. Michael stared at her with a childlike innocence. If not for his hellish nature, Genevieve might have been fooled by his faux expression.

Michael slid his hand upward, leaving a blazing trail of heat on Genevieve's skin. Goosebumps were raised as his fingers made their way to her thigh, hiking up her dress with it. Dread pooled in the pit of Genevieve's stomach as she watched his eyes devour the exposed skin.

"Still going to stay silent?" Michael circled a thumb against the inner skin of her thigh. His palm was firmly pressed against the tattoo of Genevieve's late cat, Holly, while his fingers gripped the outer portion of her leg.

"I think we're going to have to change that."

Michael swiftly pressed down, snapping Genevieve's femur with precision and tact. A shriek ripped from the woman's throat as blinding pain shot up her body. Genevieve arched her back against the heavy force keeping her locked to the bed, her vision going black for what seemed like the longest seconds of her life. The surge of pain became so overwhelming that Genevieve's scream faltered and she gasped for breath. No matter how much air she sucked in, it constantly felt like it wasn't enough.

"You know, I've always hated that…"

Michael took his hand from the brunette's thigh and crawled up toward her on both his hands and knees. He peered at Genevieve's agony stricken expression, his ice-blue eyes shining brightly at the mess he was making of her. He was enjoying every moment of this intimate encounter between them.

"I've always hated that jewelry of yours. In fact, I almost forgot you had it. I'm surprised you kept it in, even at the end of the world," Michael sneered. "Were you planning on using it to pleasure that Gray you were beginning to fall for? What was his name… Vincent?"

Before she could retort, Michael pressed his hand against Genevieve's lips. He pried his fingers in, forcefully opening her jaw and pushing past her teeth. Michael grabbed the piercing, hooking two of his digits around the top and bottom of the straight barbell.

"N-Na-" Genevieve tried to protest as the blond forcibly ripped the piercing from her mouth, splitting the tip of her tongue in two. She tried to scream again, this time being met with the rapid onset of blood pouring down her throat. Genevieve choked, spitting up fresh crimson on her chin and face. Part of her wanted to believe that this wasn't happening, that it simply wasn't real, just an extremely vivid nightmare. The pain alone was enough to tell her otherwise.

The tear in Genevieve's tongue inevitably reintroduced the pain in the other parts of her body. The back of her head, her wrist, her broken femur… She closed her eyes tightly and unwillingly swallowed gulps of her own iron-tinged blood.

"Please, God, just kill me already," she thought briefly to herself. Genevieve wasn't religious, but if the self-proclaimed Antichrist was here torturing her until her last breath, then it didn't hurt to beg to someone.

"There is no god, Genevieve. If there was, why would he let the world end?" Michael whispered and bent his head down, soon meeting lips with the brunette under him. He kissed Genevieve heatedly, relishing the bright crimson that spilled from her mouth. His tongue lapped at the warm liquid before darting inside, feeling the torn piece of flesh he had created. Michael reluctantly pulled away just before a knock came from his bedroom door.

"Sir, they're here," a muffled voice sounded from the other side of the wood. It was Ms. Mead.

"I'll be out in no time," Michael replied in a raspy voice, his tone dripping with sadistic desire.

Genevieve had opened her eyes now. She could barely make out what was happening as the unbearable torture was now starting to numb her thoughts and emotions, with the help of her throbbing concussion. It numbness glazed over everything and allowed her to slip into a strange sort of calm, despite the consistent discomfort of her wounds. Exhaustion loomed overhead, wearing down Genevieve's ability to hold on to her conscious state of mind.

"Well, I was hoping to have my way with you," Michael straightened up, bringing the back of his hand against his lips to wipe away Genevieve's blood. "But of course, those witches have to ruin everything for me. So, let's make this quick then, shall we?"

Michael reached out and laid a finger against the neck of Genevieve's dress. He motioned his fingers downward from the seam, between her breasts and then to her belly-button. The fabric followed in stride with his psychic command, ripping itself in half along the trail he had traced. The purple material split open, exposing Genevieve's bare chest and upper abdomen. Her first instinct was to shield herself, or maybe even fight back against it. However, due to Michael's invisible force and her undeniable physical enervation, Genevieve wasn't able to move a muscle.

"All I ever wanted was to get close to you," Michael spoke softly and placed a hand right below her sternum. He gracefully pressed into her skin, harder and harder until it broke and allowed him entrance. Michael finessed his way past her epidermal layer as more blood seeped out and around Genevieve's body. She could barely feel the bodily fluid as the stabbing pain quickly became so much more excruciating than anything she had ever experienced. It was more painful than the breaking of her leg or even the shredding of her tongue. The torture was enough to leave her breathless and quiet with a silent scream that formed on her face, yet nothing came out.

"I wanted you to accept me and not throw me out like everyone else, but you couldn't even give me that," the blond whispered and wrapped his hand around Genevieve's heart. "Which is why I brought you back, so I could end you myself. I wanted to get close to you one last time."

Salty tears slipped past the brunette's eyes as her heart was removed from her rib cage. Michael pulled it out and examined it closely before looking back at Genevieve. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth still hanging open and slack jawed. The foreboding dark edges of her vision began to engulf her sight, quickly advancing its way until she couldn't see anything else in the bedroom. All sounds and earlier felt pains began to ebb and subside, a peaceful serenity now taking over Genevieve's aura.

Michael stared onward while his former friend began to slip away. He breathed a shaky breath and watched as Genevieve took her last. Her heart fluttered for the last and final time in his hands.

"Genevieve Bianchi… You die like angels sing."

* * *

(This was suppose to be the ending, but I feel like some of you might not like it, so I added a little something in the form of a short chapter after this.  
It's completely optional though! If you like this ending by itself then maybe not read the next chapter? Either way, it's up to you. I hope you enjoyed my fanfic, regardless.)


	8. Optional Ending

**Optional Ending**

It was a day just like any other in Los Angeles, California. The sun was shining and the wind was blowing a soft breeze between trees nearby, rustling their branches ever so slightly. Clouds lazily rolled sideways against the pale, cerulean sky. It was a great day, just like every other in L.A.

"Remember to always keep moving…"

Genevieve reflected on a previous session with her therapist. Marie wanted her patient to exercise and stay active during her recovery, as the first few months were some of the hardest Genevieve would have to endure. Although she wasn't currently craving the drugs that had ruined her life just months prior, she knew the hunger for self-destruction would come back around at some point. Running seemed to help keep the edge off, as well as sleeping and eating well. For the most part, Genevieve was dedicated to this ritual. She was dead-set on recovering fully for both her, her best friend and roommate Cerise, and her beautiful calico, Holly. They were her newfound family and Genevieve wanted to stay alive for not only her own peace, but also for their sake.

The brunette rubbed frail fingers over her favorite cat-printed mug, occasionally stealing small sips of coffee. When she finished her drink, Genevieve was about to stand up from the couch before something peculiar caught her eye. A black suburban quickly pulled into Cerise's driveway. This was most definitely out of the ordinary, seeing as Genevieve didn't recognize this car whatsoever. It wasn't anything that her family, or her friend's family, would drive.

The dainty woman watched from her window perch as the car parked. A girl opened the driver's side door and promptly exited the vehicle. She was quite small with brown, shoulder length hair, similarly styled to that of Genevieve's except without the bleach blonde underneath. After shutting the car door and turning around, the lady hastily paced up the walkway toward the front door. Genevieve was quick to stand on her feet as soon as she heard the knock.

Holly padded into the room to join her owner, jumping up on the dining room table adjacent from the house's entry point. The brunette was quick to scoop up her beloved cat before unlocking the door and opening it. She made sure to keep enough space in between the door and the door frame in case she needed to shut it abruptly.

"Genevieve?" The stranger asked, looking up at said woman. She was dressed in black from head-to-toe, lace garments adorning her hair and wrists. In Genevieve's mind, this lady looked almost as if she was ready for a funeral.

"Uh, yes?"

"I'm Mallory," the girl stuck out her hand. "I'm currently very pressed for time right now but I will try my best to explain everything accordingly."

Genevieve raised an eyebrow and cracked open the door even further. With Holly in one arm, Genevieve extending her own hand, unsure of what was going on but still wanting to seem polite. Something in her brain was egging her on, intrigued by the mysterious energy surrounding the strange woman.

When the two shook hands, Genevieve gasped and recoiled almost instantly. Déjà vu washed over her senses as the brunette pulled away. Her emerald eyes flickered upward to meet chocolate brown irises, which were becoming increasingly familiar by the second. Genevieve was almost certain she had met Mallory somewhere before but couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Genevieve Bianchi, this is a formal invitation to Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. I think you will be most interested in what we have to offer you."

* * *

Please make sure to leave a review! I love feedback! Tell me what you think about it.

Was it what you were expecting? Did anything surprise you? Would you like to read more fanfics about Michael from me?  
Let me know, thanks!


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